


All There Is

by DisposalUnit



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Afterlife, Bittersweet, Canonical Character Death, Established Relationship, Forgiveness, Inevitable death because everyone dies eventually, M/M, Near Suicide, Post-Canon, Reunions, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-11
Updated: 2016-11-11
Packaged: 2018-08-30 10:57:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8530366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DisposalUnit/pseuds/DisposalUnit
Summary: John died on that rooftop.It was not the end.





	

John’s awareness ended, in pain and with a smile.

-

It seeped back into existence, in bliss.

In soothing darkness, he felt a bit like he was in the afterglow of the best sex of his life. He could almost feel the cool of his pillow against his cheek, almost smell the warm, familiar scents of Harold’s bed-sheets... and Harold.

He felt an ache in his heart as he remembered the rooftop where he had just been—How long ago? He remembered his relief as he’d watched Harold walk toward the stairs of his rooftop, to safety. He remembered the excruciating pain of being shot, and shot again, then the rapid, bursting bites of being sprayed with bullets from all directions.

“John?”

He opened his eyes with a gasp.

Harold peered at him, glasses off, from mere inches away in their bed. He seemed younger, somehow. A gentle smile. “Welcome home.”

John was silent, processing. Had the rooftop been a dream?

“I’m sorry to tell you that what happened on the rooftop was real life,” Harold answered softly.

  “I’m dead,” John whispered in wonder, feeling the truth of it but not knowing how.

“Yes. We both are.”

No. No, no he’d wanted to save Finch, so that he could live on and be happy and—

“John, I did live that day, and thousands more,” Harold assured him, leaning toward him to bring their lips together in an impossibly-tender kiss. “I lived on, and I was happy; as happy as I could be without you.”

John’s throat ached with emotion, tears filling his eyes. “That’s why I did it, Harold,” he wept through a defeated-seeming smile. “If you had been killed... I couldn’t have gone on living without you. But I knew that _you_ could go on living without _me_. I’m so glad that you did.”

Harold’s eyes grew sorrowful, as though he could feel everything John was feeling at that moment, and more. “Oh, my dearest, John—For a long time after you died, I _couldn’t_ go on. When I lost you, I lost my will to live.”

A gasp and John could suddenly remember what had happened after he’d died, from Harold’s perspective: During the cab ride to the hospital, all Harold could do was dread living a life without John. Instead of walking into the ER, he walked away, finally collapsing after three blocks. He’d given up.

John pressed his forehead against Harold’s. He wanted to apologize for making Harold feel such deep pain, but he was too astonished to speak.

“Don’t apologize, John! You gave me such a wonderful gift! It just took me a while to accept it,” Harold assured him, stroking John’s cheek.

John remembered: Someone found Finch passed-out on the sidewalk, and brought him back to the hospital. When Finch woke up, days later, he was _angry_ that the world had forced him to survive, once again. Finch stole some scrubs and a jacket and slipped away, without checking out.

And for days on end, Finch holed-up in a little-used safehouse in Queens, drinking John’s stash of bourbon, sobbing, and staring at the ceiling. Several times, he held one of John’s loaded pistols to his head, wanting so badly to pull the trigger and escape the world that was so painfully empty without John.

John couldn’t take this. He pulled Harold into a despairing embrace, trembling with the deep emotional hurt that Harold had felt in those dark days.

“I didn’t kill myself,” Harold continued, through tears of his own. “To do so would have been to throw away your sacrifice, as though it was worthless. You see—Your life was the most precious thing in the world to me. I couldn’t treat your sacrifice of that very life as anything less than the dearest gift I could ever imagine.”

The ache in John’s chest lessened and disappeared as he remembered: Harold had done his best to carry on with the life he had left. He’d gone back to Grace, and together they’d enjoyed everythig good that the world could offer them.

Harold cradled the back of John’s head, stroking his hair. “Those years of life you gave me were such a immeasurable gift, John, despite the contant pang of your absence. I am so very grateful. Thank you.” A soft kiss to John’s temple.

When John’s breathing had slowed, a thought occurred to him. “Harold... If you lived for years after I died, how did you get here before me?” 

“We’re in a place outside of time. It doesn’t work the same way here.” A grin. “In fact, the day I finally died, you were right here, waiting for me, in our shared memories of this very bed. You welcomed me home, just as I’m doing for you.”

It didn’t make a bit of sense to John, but he didn’t care. An overwhelmed grin. “Not that I’m unhappy to spend _outside-of-time_ , Mobius-strip eternity naked with you in bed...” he mused, “But is this...?”

Harold chuckled, the sound brighter and happier than John had ever heard before. “No, this is not _all there is_. The afterlife is _anything_ and _everything_. What would you like it to be?”

John’s heart sang as ideas flooded through him. “Lots of things. I want to reunite with lots of people. And a few dogs.”

Bear jumped onto the bed, out of nowhere. Soon, the bed was crowded with dogs—Bear, Scout (John’s first childhood dog, a German Shepherd,) Mr. Pibb (John’s second dog, a chocolate lab mix,) and Farrah (John’s third dog, a Golden Retriever.)

John’s face and neck were thoroughly licked by four happy tongues as Harold laughed, trying to protect himself from the happy wagging tails. John laughed right along with him as he basked in the affection of his long-lost canine friends. His heart was so joyful that it almost hurt. Almost.

“It’s a good thing you didn’t choose to see your family first,” Harold joked. “We should probably put some clothes on before that reunion.”

In an instant, they found themselves dressed and sitting on a short dock at the edge of a lake, their bare feet in the cool water, Mount Rainier dominating the horizon. John recognized the place immediately—This was the area where his family had gone on vacation each summer, where he’d spent long days having outdoor adventures with his little sister, where his father and mother took time to relax and enjoy time together as a family.

They’d spent a month there, every July... Until the year Sophie got sick.

This was the setting for John’s most treasured memories of childhood, where his adoptive family had been happy and whole.

The four dogs ran along the shoreline, splashing and frolicking. John and Harold watched them and smiled.

John was suddenly aware of the presence someone sitting at his other side. She kicked water at him playfully and grinned. “Miss me?”

It took John a moment to process the fact that Sophie was no longer the sickly 6-year old who’d died of a brain tumor, but a healthy-looking young adult. He grabbed her into a bear-hug, almost knocking them both into the lake.

“No horse-play, you two,” John’s mother laughed from nearby. She was standing at a picnic table with John’s father hugging her from behind, both of them watching their two children with deep fondness.

 Movement in the distance caught John’s eye. In every direction John looked, walking into his sight out of empty space, were all the other people he loved: Jessica, Sameen and Root, Lionel and Lee, Joss and Taylor, Zoe, Grace, Megan, Madeleine and Amy, Harper, Joey... Even Logan. Even Leon. And Leila, now all grown up. All convening at the picnic table, which had suddenly become large enough for everyone, where his father was pouring beers and his mother was pouring wine. A huge basket, heaping with the most delicious-smelling bread, lay at the table’s center.

John’s mouth watered. His entire being craved the simple feast. He stood, helped Sophie and Harold up, and went toward the gathering crowd.

A part of him was startled to see Kara Stanton and Mark Snow taking seats at the table, but then he realized it was fitting for them to be there. He’d loved them too, in a way, a very long time ago. He suddenly found it easy to forgive them.

“Harold,” John whispered, “Is it weird that I’m not angry at Kara and Mark anymore?”

“Love is the nature of this existence,” Harold replied. “Get used to seeing old enemies, John. Somewhere in this reality, you’ll find everyone who ever wronged you. And those whom you’ve wronged will find you, as well.”

  John felt his heart stumble, which would have seemed odd if he’d thought to put it together with the fact he was dead. He would meet everyone he’d ever hurt or killed? He wouldn’t be able to handle that, no way.

Harold put a hand on his shoulder. “They’ll forgive you, just as you’ve forgiven Kara and Mark. It’s a new beginning.”

John gulped. The very idea was still terrifying.

John found himself seated, again with Harold and Sophie on either side, an ice-cold glass of beer in his hand, and a slice of bread in the other. A sip. A bite.

He was no longer afraid.

He was Home.  


End file.
